A Matter of Honor
by ladyaine
Summary: Missing scene from the second book, Post Captain. Jack and Stephen resolve this little problem of their upcoming duel. Warning: spoilers for Post Captain and there are a couple of naughty words. Friendshipbased, not meant to be slash.


This is my first Master and Commander fic. It's a vignette based on the second book, but I picture all the characters exactly as they appear in the movie, which I absolutely love.I wrote this piece because I wasn't entirely happy with the fact that Patrick O'Brian neverlet us see theresolution to Jack and Stephen'supcoming duel. All of a sudden it just wasn't an issue any more, which is fine, but this is my version of how theymight have cometo an understanding. Thanks for reading.

A Matter of Honor

Jack Aubrey stared up at the beams overhead, feeling the familiar roll of a ship beneath him and yet also feeling oddly disoriented. He did not understand where he was. He did not remember what had happened to him. Indeed, the last thing he remembered was watching the _Polycrest_ sink slowly to the bottom of the bay with her hull having been torn asunder by the enemy and the tips of her masts the only remaining thing visible to him. He thought he remembered, too, hearing Stephen's voice in his ear, urging him to come away, but that was all.

Now he was lying in a strange cot in a strange ship and he was alone.

No, not alone. He heard movement around to his left side, out of sight. Attempting to turn his head, however, brought on a stab of hot pain and Jack grunted as he squeezed his eyes shut against it. When he opened them again Stephen was there, bending over him grimly and with concern.

"Ah. Awake at last, are you? I feared coma with you out so long. No, don't try sitting up. You must preserve your strength, Jack."

Jack did not resist against Stephen's firm hand pressing him back into the warm cocoon of blankets. He was too weak to object and his head still hurt.

"How bad?" he croaked, feeling as if his throat were full of sand. A few scattered memories were returning: the taking of a Spanish corvette, the _Polycrest_ running aground, himself diving into the sea, twice, to drag lines between the ships . . . sudden and blinding pain . . . staying to the last on his hopeless, sinking vessel.

"Extreme loss of blood is my most pressing concern for you," Stephen informed him gravely. He pulled up a nearby stool and seated himself next to Jack's cot. "A blood vessel in the back of your head was apparently nicked in the skirmish and you nearly lost the entirety of your life's juices, my dear, before Bonden and I carried you below. I had to cauterize the source of the bleeding, do you remember? You were jolted awake briefly during that process. And Sophie will not praise me, but I had to shave a great deal of your hair to repair the wounds. You won't be a pretty sight for some months."

"At least it wasn't my ear this time. Have you any water there, Stephen?"

"Certainly. Your thirst is, of course, due to the loss of blood," Stephen continued as he reached across to a nearby table and poured out a cup of water from a ewer. "Indeed, I would be greatly astonished if you had more than three ounces left by the time I got to you; and that was all in your toes."

Without waiting for an answer, Stephen gently slipped one hand behind Jack's aching head and raised it while holding the cup to his lips.

"Easy now. Drink it slowly. More?" Stephen asked as he eased Jack's head down again into the pillow.

"Yes. But would you first pass the word for my officers? I want to know . . ."

"I'm afraid you won't see anyone until I say you're ready," Stephen interrupted flatly. "Perhaps tomorrow morning. No, don't argue with me, Jack. Your officers are surely competent and I am entirely serious when I say you must have your rest. Here is your water. I am also preparing a strengthening draught for you and a bolus which you must take at each meal along with my potable soup. Do not expect to see meat on your plate for some . . . there, you see? You drank too fast and now you're coughing."

Jack grimaced sourly as soon as he could speak again. "What a fellow you are, Stephen, to torture your patients so."

"I believe that is my prerogative as ship's surgeon." More kindly he said, "Sleep now and when you wake you shall have your soup."

He made as if to rise, but Jack suddenly put his hand on Stephen's wrist and held him back, for there were other, earlier things that he remembered now: things that he was ashamed to recall, words spoken hastily, in anger and jealousy; words that he wished had never been said.

In his heart, Jack knew that he could never rest, could never find peace in sleep until he had first tried to make amends for what he had done. How could he have said such vile things to Stephen? How could he have brought on the ruination of their friendship – nay, their brotherhood – for such an unworthy reason as Diana Villiers? The thought of fighting Stephen, perhaps to the death, was horrific to him now; inconceivable and wholly unthinkable.

"Stephen, listen to me," he pleaded quietly while his friend gazed at him in obvious surprise. "Before you go I must apologize. I want to apologize. I never meant those things I said to you. I was a damned bloody fool and I withdraw every word of it. I swear I do. Everything I said about you being a liar and . . . and . . . that other thing." He could not bring himself to repeat the infamous words "cowardly bastard", choking on the mere memory of them. What blood he still had rushed to his face in shame. "Oh God, Stephen, what was I thinking? I'm so very sorry. I know it was unforgivable, but God help me, I don't want to fight you. Not you, Stephen. Please say that you'll accept my withdrawal. I wish you would. I could not bear it if you didn't."

Stephen's expression had gone immediately blank at the start of Jack's mumbled and possibly incoherent rambling. Jack didn't know if half the words had come out the way he had meant them to - his brain felt somewhat muddled and feverish – and Stephen gave him nothing of assurance, having taken refuge behind the characteristically reptilian façade that even Jack could not penetrate.

Therefore, he feared the worst: that Stephen could not forgive him and would refuse to accept his apology - certainly he was justified in doing so – and thus would be the end of the one friendship Jack had valued most in his life. He wished more than anything at that moment that he was a more learned man, with brilliant words at his disposal, but he was not, and he had the sinking feeling that his effort had come much too late anyway.

So when Stephen smiled down on him, Jack was taken by surprise. He watched in amazement as the pale eyes of his friend grew warm and full of tenderness.

"I am deeply touched by your apology, brother. Thank you. And I most humbly accept it with all my heart, but," he added before Jack could draw breath to speak. "I must confess that your speech was unnecessary. I had already decided to withdraw myself from the challenge."

"You had?" Jack exclaimed, still too amazed to realize what he was saying. "But why?"

If he had been more himself he would have known better than to ask, for Stephen Maturin was a very private man who did not appreciate having his actions questioned. Indeed, Stephen seemed to close up at first and Jack thought he would not answer, but then something odd flickered across his face.

"Let me say only, Jack, that when I came on deck and saw you with your life bleeding away, still at your post after all you had suffered through . . . well, perhaps I realized that there are some things more worthy of preserving than a man's honor. If men will call me coward hereafter, so be it."

"No," Jack said earnestly. "Oh Stephen. Never."

His friend smiled again. "Well. Should you like to consider the matter ended then? If you are willing, we shall do so in agreement and speak of it no more."

Jack wanted to say "with all my heart", but his throat was too full and he dared not take the risk. Instead he squeezed Stephen's hand and gave a slight nod. Stephen, in return, leaned down and kissed the bandaged brow.

"Good. Now sleep, my dear," Jack heard Stephen murmur as his eyelids grew too heavy to stay open. "Sleep and dream of beautiful things. Dream of fair winds and home and of your dear, sweet Sophie."


End file.
